To the Lake we go

In July I have been doing a lot of writing and reading by the lake shores of my ancestoral lands. It's amazing to watch children play in the lake. The games they invent are so clever. And the way the lake changes from the morning cricket sounds to the hot quiet of the day to the evenings croaking of frogs.

Laguz, the rune, is a shifting and changing thing. It wants me to be quietly observant as a mother watching her children. Cautious that they neither get too far out nor too rough and court danger, I decide to join them. I feel the heat on my head and the cool of the water to the core of my body as we pretend to be snakes and fish and frogs.

The dog by the lake caught a frog. My nieces and I gave it a good viking funeral. We built it a raft and provided it with bugs to eat on the journey and little "swords" in case she meets her foe on the other side...she died with her eyes wide open, staring the black retriever in the face, staring death down. She will surely know her enemy's face on the other side. Oh yes.
Our frog will be fine.

The lake has her now.